Thursday, 20 November 2008

Hope you're well. I'm doing fine, but there is a philosophical question I've been wanting to ask you for a while.

I know that you're not as evil as people say. I know that you're just a simple guy trying to make a living off of other people's misery. I see that, and I respect that. After all, what else do undertakers, lawyers, policemen, psychologists and politicians do but make a job out of the inherent flaws and mistakes of mankind?

After all, you haven't created man. Nor are you to blame for man's faults.

An alternative to the fluffy goodness is now as necessary and desired as ever. A more realistic view of life, love and death.

However, I have heard several rumors about an exclusive underground resort you supposedly run. This place, often by the name of 'Hades' or 'Hell', is said to be every schoolboy's dream: scantily clad female demons with an open mindedness that surpasses even my own fantasies, geek approved cartloads of awesomeness in degraded outfits and accessories -- like the option to walk around as a walking, groaning, decomposing corpse -- and no consequences for any misbehavior, except perhaps thunderous applause or a better room.

I, for one, can't wait to spend some time there. Did you get my application?

The question I have been wanting to ask you, concerns this supposed resort. Considering the outfits of staff members, residents and demons alike, I guess there is reason to believe that 'Hell' is unlikely to ever "freeze over".Since I'm all about global warming since that cute girl warned me about the dangers of regular light bulbs -- don't worry, she's in my fridge. Well, parts of her, anyway -- I really am curious about something.

Is there an environmentally-friendly air conditioner in 'Hell'? Can it be turned down at all?

Tuesday, 21 October 2008

...that elephants are plotting to conquer the world? They're just not very succesful at it, because their numbers are decreasing rapidly.

...that during the second-to-last Ice Age, hell froze over? The devil's heart is still cold and bitter.

...that that's no moon? It's a crumble of cheese in your eye. Really, get rid of it. It's disgusting.

...that the Second World War, unlike the first one, did not involve the entire world getting into a fight? Antartica didn't fight in the war, for example. It has been the theory of experts that the specialised penguin bomb squad was unavailable due to a mass fishing trip.

...that black is the new black? Gothics worldwide are changing their wardrobe to bright colors.

Friday, 25 July 2008

Somehow I've managed to not talk about one of my other fascinations. That is shocking to me, since it's possibly an even bigger obsession than Star Wars and blogging together. I know, it's that bad.

I've always been a fan of fantasy and the line between reality and makebelieve is one I find very interesting indeed. And as macabre as it may sound, the role death plays in that.

Sounds creepy? I bet. But I've always been fascinated by so-called "gothic novels" and the gothic subculture.

And vampires.

Vampires and the goth lifestyle are often associated, for obvious reasons. Goth wear black clothes, often oldfashioned style, dye their hair black and pale their faces. The resemblance to an undead corpse isn't that farfetched.

However, both vampires and goths are often misinterpreted. When talking about vampires, people quickly start to talk about stakes, garlic and full moons. Full moons? That's werewolves for you. Their ancient enemy. But vampires are fascinating. I once did an essay on them, and discovered that although cultures around the world have their own sort of vampires - just like dragons - they are all just a bit different.

So what defines a vampire?Is it being a walking corpse? Nah, some cultures believe in vampires that have nonhuman origins, or no origin in life at all. Is it the human appearance? Nah, some believe in vampires made of flames. Is it the seducing aspect? Nah, some vampires are just plain gross. Kind of like zombies.

Is it the blooddrinking? There are some creatures that do not drink blood, yet they are most definately vampires.

So what defines a vampire?

And what defines a goth?

Goth, in my opinion, is misinterpreted by many people, even goths. Does that sound ridiculous? I'm sure. But please realize just how many people just try to fit in, even in such small and remarkable groups. However, misunderstanding is more common amongst those who are not gothics.

I once had a conversation with a religious woman who had read about goths, yet she never had encountered any. She was appalled, yet fascinated. Of course the article, in a christian magazine, was not too objective, and often reminded readers that some goths deny god, or are satanists. And I explained, that the essence of goth is not that.

Goth, in essence, is a philosophical view of life, in which death is acknowledged as the ultimate certainty. Every being is subject to death, human and animal alike, and also angels, demons and gods. Goths are not religious by that view, since they do not see any god or devil as mightier than death. Satanists are not gothics.

However, the misunderstanding stems from that view of death. Many people think gothics are fascinated by death, yet the opposite is true. In accepting the finality of death, gothics take more pleasure in life.

Gothics enjoy life on a more conscious level than most of us.

I know there are people that call themselves goths and disagree with this. But in essence, this is what gothic is all about. Misunderstanding comes from too few explanations from the gothic subculture, but also because people don't bother to look under the eerie surface.

I would call myself gothic if it wasn't for the fact that I don't wear makeup. I do like dark medieval-looking clothes, and I love the silvery jewelry with pentacles and such. I am not fascinated by death, yet I am fascinated by vampires. The nightstalking undead, caught between their previous lives and the death they cannot reach. The ultimate exception to the ultimate truth.

Tuesday, 15 July 2008

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the starsDid wander darkling in the eternal space,Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earthSwung blind and blackening in the moonless air;Morn came, and went and came, and brought no day,And men forgot their passions in the dreadOf this desolation; and all heartsWere chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:And they did live by watchfires - and the thrones,The palaces of crowned kings, the huts,The habitations of all things which dwell,Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,And men were gathered round their blazing homesTo look once more into each other's face;Happy were those who dwelt within the eyeOf the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;Forest were set on fire but hour by hourThey fell and faded and the crackling trunksExtinguish'd with a crash and all was black.The brows of men by the despairing lightWore an unearthly aspect, as by fitsThe flashes fell upon them; some lay downAnd hid their eyes and wept; and some did restTheir chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;And others hurried to and fro, and fedTheir funeral piles with fuel, and looked upWith mad disquietude on the dull sky,The pall of a past world; and then againWith curses cast them down upon the dust,And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd,And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutesCame tame and tremolous; and vipers crawl'dAnd twined themselves among the multitude,Hissing, but stingless, they were slain for food:And War, which for a moment was no more,Did glut himself again; a meal was boughtWith blood, and each sate sullenly apartGorging himself in gloom: no love was left;All earth was but one thought and that was death,Immediate and inglorious; and the pangOf famine fed upon all entrails menDied, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;The meagre by the meagre were devoured,Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,And he was faithful to a corpse, and keptThe birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,Till hunger clung them, or the dropping deadLured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,But with a piteous and perpetual moanAnd a quick desolate cry, licking the handWhich answered not with a caress, he died.The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but twoOf an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies;They met besideThe dying embers of an altar-placeWhere had been heap'd a mass of holy thingsFor an unholy usage; they raked up,And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton handsThe feeble ashes, and their feeble breath

Blew for a little life, and made a flameWich was a mockery; then they lifted upTheir eyes as it grew lighter, andEach other's aspects. saw, and shriek'd, and died, beheldEven of their mutual hideousness they died,Unknowing who he was upon whose browFamine had written Fiend. The world was void,The populous and the powerful was a lump,Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless,A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay.The rivers, lakes, and ocean stood still,And nothing stirred within their silent depths;Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp'dThey slept on the abyss without a surgeThe waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,The moon their mistress had expired before;The winds were withered in the stagnant air,And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no needOf aid from them. She was the universe.

-- a poem by Lord ByronFor more enjoyment, play a Monster Magnet cd while reading.

Thursday, 26 June 2008

You may, or you may not, have heard about this new blog challenge, which promises to be a hot(h)shot performance yet again. That's right: it's the word of Star Wars, and the word is Hoth.

Well, in my case, the word is Hoth; in other cases, they can be such simple or unimaginable words like clones or rebreather or datapad. I am the lucky guy, getting "Hoth" instead of other, more complicated words.

The point of this blog about Hoth, is to make a blog in which a given word (i.e. "Hoth") is used, in any way, in every sentence of said blog. You may have noticed I have used the word "Hoth" in every sentence up till now. And I'm going to put Hoth in every sentence still to come. If Hoth is not your thing, you'd better stop reading now -- seriously.

What, you may or may not ask, is Hoth again? Within the Star Wars universe ("In a galaxy far, far away...") Hoth is the sixth planet of the distant Hoth system. It's the planet where the aptly named Battle of Hoth raged, when the fearsome AT-AT walkers attacked the Rebels' Echo Base (pictured). The Battle of Hoth was portrayed to near-perfection in the now classic film The Empire Strikes Back. Of course, Luke Skywalker saved the day (along with some major and minor characters) and the Rebels, having found their base under attack by the very Empire they were plotting to undermine, evacuated from Hoth to find solace elsewhere.

Hoth, despite the sound of its name, is a cold and forever snow-covered planet, which seems mostly lifeless. Looks are deceptive, though, since Hoth was also the place where Luke was attacked by a huge wampa creature. This great predator, which kind of looks like an angry white Bigfoot, fed on large animals like tauntauns, and basically everything else they encountered on the icy planes of Hoth. Despite its ferociousness -- and exactly because of it -- powerful and rich criminals paid large sums to take one of the legendary wampas from Hoth to illegal arenas of bloodshed and personal vendettas, and so spreading the reputation of one of the most aggressive creatures in the galaxy.

Anything else on Hoth? Not much -- and I'm not sure if Hoth, or variations of it, is interesting enough to fill a blog longer than this. Therefore I will say adieu and end this pitiful little attempt at blogging about a pretty dull place like Hoth.

Thursday, 1 May 2008

Since a few months I live quite near the sea and for some reason I hadn't gone there yet. I thought about doing so quite a few times, but it wasn't until today I really went.

I've always loved the beach and, more so, the sea. Since ancient times, the sea has meant freedom to many people. Some of the first human societies were sea-faring peoples. The sea brings food, prosperity and adventures.

Mankind's fascination with the sea is understandable. Weathering its many dangers, people can gain so much from the sea, despite the costs. She gives and she takes.

Some societies thought the sea was a godlike person. A god with a fish tail and a trident, or a powerful goddess. Perhaps that is why the sea attracts so many -- and also attracts me.

I am no sailer, no fisherman, and I don't think I ever will be. However, the sea is inviting and mesmerizing to me. I don't find her fair (not the North Sea, anyway) and she's often cold to me, but for some reason I feel a strong pull towards her. She's calling me, but I know not for what purpose.

Perhaps it is my sense of adventure, my need for freedom. When I am at the beach, all I want is the sound of crashing waves, the wind through my hair, and my eyes on the horizon. Moments like these, nothing else matters. A sense of the divine, perhaps -- or some form of "zen". Leave all earthly matters behind.

Eventually, of course, I must go back home. But always there remains a sense of wonder. Wondering at what the sea wants from me -- or perhaps wondering why I left her again. In my mind, her promise that she'll be waiting forever.

Wednesday, 16 April 2008

Borderline. A nice song by Madonna; a serious and tiring disorder for some people.

The sad part is that this "personality disorder" is not a grotesque, absurd thing that is entirely beyond other people's understanding; no, it is a disorder in which normal human emotions are magnified out of proportion. Everyone feels extreme emotions sometimes -- love, fear, anger -- but people with borderline do so every single waking moment. And they switch between the emotions instantly.

One moment a person is everything they've always wanted and more, and the next moment that same person is the devil incarnate and can't do anything right. This, of course, exhausts borderliners themselves, as well as their surroundings.

I feel great sympathy for people with borderline. Despite the fact that they sometimes drive me mad -- or, perhaps, because of it.

Right now, I am going through many emotions. Much like a borderliner, my emotions can change rapidly and are intense. I will not go into the situation that caused it (but don't be worried -- I'm fine, sort of) but what I feel is conflicting. I feel torn.

But unlike a borderliner, I often feel conflicting emotions at the same time. Anger, joy, love and repulsion -- it's all there. A paradox of feelings.

Thursday, 28 February 2008

New on this blog's menu: the random thoughts of the day. Which, as they are random, will probably be a non-daily occurrence.

On to the randomness.

* Trees and flowers should have human rights, too.

* Wiggling noses are cute. So are toes. Eyes are scary, though.

* Why is that in the dark, one can't see, while in the light, one can?

* Of all the things one should do, the easiest are the hardest to start doing.

* There is a 99.1% certainty that nobody's reading this. There is a 23.6% chance you are offended by it, though. Around 4.7% chance you will now boycott trade relations with me, my family and generally everyone who happened to live in a 200 kilometer radius from me. And then try to kill all of us.

Sunday, 24 February 2008

One could say I am a guy called DragonFang to some and Nils to some others. One could say I am a friend, or a lover, or a son. One could state I am a psychologist, or a dreamer, or perhaps a nice guy. And one would be correct in all cases (I hope).

However, those descriptions do not define me.

There is something, beyond words, that defines my identity -- who I am, and nobody else is. Everyone feels it instinctively. The moment a child realizes its identity does not stretch out beyond itself -- their mommy and daddy do not know what it has done in their absence. The line between oneself and the outside world. The line that defines my being.

Nothing I do or am is unique; however, every person is unique. This is probably the individualist's paradox -- one doesn't want to be part of the crowd, but in doing so becomes a part of (another) crowd that wants to be unique. People try to define themselves based on what they are not, but achieve the opposite effect.

It is a paradox I can't escape from, and from it springs my question -- who am I? Am I a unique individual at all?

Interestingly, people in less individualistic societies (China, North-Korea, even Eastern Europe) define themselves exactly by referring to their social class. They are a farmer, or a businessman, or a mother. What makes them special is generally not what they think of.

Perhaps we are not as unique as we would like to believe. To paraphrase Tyler Durden, perhaps I am not a beautiful and unique snowflake, but I am merely the same decaying matter as everything else.

And only in death will I have a name -- on a fading tombstone, eroded and finally forgotten.